To Serve the King of Hell
by IluthraDanar
Summary: Crowley chooses to make a deal with a powerful witch. But who will control whom? Dean hates witches, so when he meets her, surely he wouldn't work with a witch against Crowley, or would he? Rated for potential romance, but between whom. You'll have to read to see. But finding oneself between fire and a hot place won't be easy to deal with. Comments welcome!
1. Chapter 1

**To Serve the King of Hell**

**Dean hates witches, so I decided to write a story about one. **

**I do not own the world of Supernatural or its inhabitants. Only the OCs are mine.**

**Chapter 1**

Marisa sat at her table in the hidden room, whose entrance was located behind a well-worn, wall-size tapestry that hung in her bedroom. She was closely studying one of the pages of her latest acquisition. It was a very old book of spells. A frown marred her pretty face as she tried to understand the phrase while looking over the illustration of a sigil beneath it. "Do mar...do marien...kariste...hell! I'll never get this one," she muttered to herself. She knew she was strong in the power it took to make these spells come to life, but she missed her mother, who had a natural ability for instruction. Under her tutelage, Marisa grew in strength and ability, but that came to an end when her mother had been killed by a particularly strong demon. Even being a powerful witch didn't guarantee a long life, when a demon was out to destroy you.

Marisa sometimes wondered if being a white witch was worth it, when dark forces were all around. Some had even approached her, promising gifts of wealth and influence if she swore to use her power towards their evil agendas. They had approached her mother as well, and always, her mother had refused. Eventually, one had broken through her most powerful protection spell and killed her.

Marisa wiped the tears that had slipped down her cheek. "I don't know if I'm as strong as you, Mom. Evil feels so much stronger." Marisa sighed, brushed strands of her long, auburn hair off her face, and tried to concentrate on the spell.

"Why bother working this hard? Your mother was just as determined as you are now, and look what happened to her."

The voice slipped into her thoughts as she looked up to see a rather non-descript man of average height, standing not 5 feet from her. He was dressed all in black, with only a sapphire-blue tie breaking the grim colour of his suit. With thinning black hair and a neat but scruffy beard, he seemed a dark figure indeed. She closed the book, and rose from her chair. At 5'7", Marisa was only inches shorter than the man, but she summoned her inner power that made her feel twice as tall. She felt it swirl within her, giving her strength against what she knew to be a demon. But this was no ordinary demon.

"I'm sorry, my dear. I know you're building a wall around yourself, but it won't be strong enough. You see, you're correct in thinking that I'm not just any demon. I'm the lord of all demons, the King of Hell himself."

Marisa should have trembled where she stood, but she refused to give in to the fear. "Lucifer?" she asked haltingly.

The man chuckled. "No, no. That one is safely locked away, forever, I hope. My name is Crowley. I've taken over from a rather...distracted Devil. The throne is mine now." He walked around the room, admiring the handiwork of generations of witches passed from mother to daughter. "I'm here to make a deal with you...for your soul."

Remembering her mother's conflicts with these creatures, Marisa was determined to not only deny the demon lord, but send him away in a maelstrom of energy. She began whispering the words of her strongest dispersal spell.

As a mini whirlwind began to form around Crowley, he merely smiled. With one wave of his hand, the maelstrom dissipated until it vanished completely. "You're very good, my dear, but it won't be that easy to send me away. So you may as well listen to what I have to say."

Standing her ground, Marisa answered haughtily, "Say your piece then, but first, I'll give you a preview of my answer. No."

Crowley stepped up the witch, and taking her chin roughly in his hand, he looked into emerald green, saying, "You do have unusually beautiful eyes, but one warning. Never mock me. What I'm offering you is a bloody good deal for someone of...your kind. You'd do well to listen." He released her and waited.

The accent that was a blend of English Cockney and Scottish brogue washed over Marisa like a soothing balm, a common trick used to put a supplicant at ease. But Marisa was not a supplicant. "No, thank you. I don't need your help in any way."

Crowley grinned. "Your mother said the same thing." That witch had, in fact, refused all demon advances, but he sensed within her daughter, a curiosity that might make her pliable to his whims. He had been a simple crossroads demon back then, but certain humans were known amongst the demon rank and file.

Marisa stepped closer. "You...you knew my mother?"

"Personally, no. But I knew **of **her. She was a strong witch with a soul any demon would have been proud to possess. I thought it wasteful for any of us to have simply killed her. Had I been King of Hell then, I would have taken that demon, and stripped him apart atom by atom over 1000 years. His pain would have been indescribable."

"Look, Mr Crowley..." Marisa began, before being interrupted by the demon lord.

"Just Crowley, love. Informal, that's the way I want things between us."

Marisa nodded slightly. "Ok, Crowley. I really appreciate your offer, but I want nothing to do with any of the inhabitants of Hell. You do understand, don't you?"

Crowley looked the young witch up and down, before granting her the boon of his smile. "Accepted, for now. Perhaps, later, you'll change your mind. You have some wonderful gifts there, which makes you a target, like your mother. I can protect you, for a price. And I won't give up...just yet." Then he was gone.

Marisa sighed with relief. She hoped she had seen the last of Crowley.

But each day at the same time, he would return to make the same offer. Whether she was in her kitchen preparing a meal, in her workroom creating a new spell, or as once happened, in her bathroom while she was showering. She had shouted at him angrily that time, until he'd fled to the living room to wait for her.

So when he appeared for what felt like the hundreth time, Marisa was pretty blase about it.

"Back again?" Marisa barely acknowledged his arrival.

"Of course. I'm a patient man. You see, I haven't given up on you yet."

Marisa was blending some herbal tinctures, creating a holistic cure for a skin ailment. She knew a few people who were aware of her gifts, kept it secret, and in return, were allowed to purchase special items. Holding up the glass bottle, she smiled with satisfaction as she whirled the liquid around in its container, watching it thicken. The mixture was perfect. She capped the small bottle, and placed it in a velvet lined box. Turning to the demon lord, she said, "I saw you in a vision last night."

Crowley's interest was piqued. His eyebrow went up as he waited for the witch to continue.

"I saw you far off in another land, green and untamed. Centuries ago, I'd wager. Another life perhaps? Your human life? Then I saw you in a grand mansion, which sadly, was later destroyed. Next you were in a trailer, of all things, looking pretty much like a thrift store reject. Finally I saw you as the King of Hell, arrogance oozing from every pore, and yet, there was...someone or something, who easily set you in your place, and more than once." Taking three steps up to Crowley, Marisa tilted her head as she looked at him. "You're an enigma I can't decipher." She smiled. "It takes away a bit of the fear factor, you know."

Crowley closed the small space that remained between them, feeling the heat of power eminating from the witch who continually defied him. "You would serve yourself better to be very afraid. You have no idea what I can do, what I have done." He grinned when he saw her smile vanish. She would agree to his offer soon, he was sure of that. But a part of him wondered if once she had been won, would he lose interest in her. No, it wouldn't happen. Her gifts would provide him with many new opportunities as well as entertainment enough to last centuries.

"Why would I even consider bargaining with you, Crowley? You're far from trustworthy," Marisa uttered, as if that was the perfect excuse to dismiss his offer.

"You're right, I'm not. But with you, that may change...**if you give me what I want,**" he said harshly. Then the demon lord vanished.

Marisa exhaled the breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding in. Desperate for some way out of this bind she found herself in, she left her hidden room to go make some supper, and get a glass of wine. As she poured the ruby red liquid into her favourite goblet, an idea began to form in her mind.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

It was more than a week since Crowley had made his predictable appearance. She had begun to think he had indeed given up on her. Marisa was working on a new spell when he appeared behind her. She sensed him, but let him speak first, as if she were too busy for him.

"So what are we working on today?" he asked, coming to stand next to her as he watched her work her magic.

Closing the book she'd been reading, she responded with a slight huff, "**I'm** attempting to see how this 500 year old curse could be made into a workable spell for healing."

"Commendable," Crowley said, not without some sarcasm, "Now, what about my offer." He walked around her work table, scanning items but with no real interest.

"Alright." Marisa waited.

Crowley picked up a small bottle of blue crystals, and was peering at the tiny pinpoints of light reflecting off the many miniature facets, when the word penetrated his musings. He had firmly believed she would give in to him eventually. When it happened, however, he was slightly taken aback. "What?" he asked, putting down the bottle none too gently.

"Careful with that," Marisa demanded, picking up the bottle and placing it securely on a shelf.

Narrowing his eyes, Crowley wanted her to repeat what she had said, just to be sure. "What did you say, witch?"

Marisa moved to stand inches before the King of Hell, but there was no obeisance in her stance. She stared him in his dark eyes, and reiterated, "I said I've changed my mind. I will sell you my soul."

A smile began to form on Crowley's face, but was stopped by what she said next.

"With certain stipulations." Marisa turned her back on the human-turned-demon-turned-demon lord.

"And what would those be?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

Facing him again, arms crossed, she said, "First, I want to live twenty years."

"Ten," Crowley countered.

"Fifteen."

"Done!"

"All right, then, fifteen** full healthy years**. I don't want to make an agreement with you, only to be hit by a truck tomorrow."

"You wound me deeply, Marisa. I always keep my word. If we break our promises, trust wouldn't exist anymore between humans and demons, and where would that put my business? Of course, you'll be given exactly what we agree to. Anything else?" he asked, a smirk on his face. She was proving to be more difficult than most, but he was having so much fun.

"When my time is up, I want to drop dead. No one will know that anything killed me. No accidents, no diseases. I'll just...drop."

"And I'll be there to catch you. Agreed again," Crowley grinned, imagining that day.

"One more thing," Marisa said, hearing him sigh. "When I do arrive in Hell, I don't want to be placed on any torture device, or allowed to drift in some pool of hellfire. I want to be your assistant."

"My what?" he demanded, a frown on his face. He had to admit shock now. This had never been a request made by anyone, ever.

"You heard me. I want to work with you, **for** you if you prefer. I want to watch and learn everything. You said yourself, my soul is powerful, so why would you want to waste it by letting some lesser demon get his jollies making me suffer for all eternity?"

Crowley knew she was right. He didn't want to see her energy go to waste. He would rather make use of her power, but as his assistant? Did he really want a human soul underfoot? It was simply unheard of! Still, he hadn't been King of Hell for very long, and it was his right to create precedence. "Agreed," he replied, attempting to sound reluctant.

Marisa exhaled. She would become even more powerful under Crowley's tutelage, and when it was done, she wouldn't have to endure an eternity of suffering. She would continue to learn. Maybe, someday, she would take over Hell herself. She suppressed a grin as she imagined the prospect. "Ok, so what do we do now? Do I have to sign an agreement on parchment, in blood?"

Crowley laughed. "That's old-fashioned. These days, deals are sealed...with a kiss." He winked playfully at her.

A kiss. Well, it could be worse. Marisa looked over the King of Hell, measuring him up against human standards, knowing he wouldn't fit into that mold. He wasn't handsome in a pretty way, but there was something about the light in his eyes, and the expectant grin he gave her. Besides, it wasn't like they were getting engaged. It was a contract they were signing here. It was purely business.

"Well, are you ready to...sign?"

Marisa shortened the space that was between them, and stopped in front of Crowley. She tilted her head as she waited.

"You have to make the first move, my dear." Crowley grinned again. He never felt such pleasure at the acquisition of a soul before.

Marisa reached out, placing her hands on his shoulders. She leaned forward, and pressing her mouth on his, kissed him. She lingered a bit longer than she should have, before pulling away. "I don't feel any different," she said, looking down at herself.

Crowley raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "What did you think would happen? Horns would sprout? You'd begin to exhibit an eerie glow? Come, love, it's nothing like that." He reached out, and with his hand, caressed her cheek. "But rest assured, you're mine now."

**A/N: I hope someone liked this beginning. Crowley is one of my favourite characters, and I'm glad or at least, hopeful, he will be prominent in Season 8. Thanks for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

**To Serve the King of Hell**

**I do not own the world of Supernatural or its inhabitants. Only OCs are mine.**

**Chapter 2**

"It won't be long before I harvest myself one very powerful soul." Crowley was practically rubbing his hands together with glee. Ignoring the witch as she rolled her eyes at him, the self-appointed demon lord smiled smugly.

"Not for another 15 years. That's one-five," she reminded him warily, raising first one finger on her hand, then all five fingers.

"Don't worry, love. I keep my bargains. You will get the full 15 years. Then, you're mine."

Y_es, yes, I know, now drop that aspect of things_, she screamed mentally. Leaving her workroom, Marisa headed for the kitchen, but was surprised to find Crowley hadn't followed her. She shut the door and put back into place, the tapestry that hid the door. As she reached the kitchen, she found her new mentor waiting for her.

"A drop in the bucket," Crowley said, tapping her chin with his fisted hand. For him, time had become less important since he'd become a demon. "Believe me, it'll pass before you know it. Remember, I'm a patient man." Suddenly thirsty, and with a desire to toast his personal triumph, he imperceptibly waved a hand, and a quart bottle of his favorite Scotch appeared on her counter, along with an old-fashioned glass made of the finest Irish crystal. He had his standards, after all. Pouring himself a drink, he downed the amber liquid, relishing the burning sensation as it slid down his throat. "Care to indulge?" he offered, one brow lifted in amusement.

"No, thanks. I prefer wine." She took a goblet from a shelf. Her mother had given it to Marisa when she was younger. At the time, she told her daughter a story about a witch who lived over three hundred years ago. She'd used the goblet for her rituals. Marisa's mother warned her to hang on to it, as it could have special magic within it. It was made from some base metal carved with runes Marisa had yet to decipher. The unusual thing about the cup was it was lined with a clear blue glass. She hadn't ever noticed magic exude from the cup, but she liked drinking from it in any case

While pouring her favorite burgundy, she dared to ask, "You're not exactly a man anymore, Crowley. So whose body are you possessing?"

"Just some semi-successful literary agent from New York. He hated his job, so I gave him another, down under, if you catch my meaning. I'd given him 10 good years. Really started to kick some butt in the publishing business, but when the hourglass emptied..." Crowley shrugged.

"I understand," Marisa interrupted, frowning, not really eager to think of her promised 15 years passing so quickly. Had she made a mistake in accepting an agreement with this overly cocky braggart? "You kept his body though."

"It was just for a short time, but I got used to it. Ended up keeping the thing, after making some minor adjustments." Crowley leaned back against the counter. His mind traveled ahead into the future years, and imagined how he would make the most of this witch's energy. The resulting ideas brought a smile to his bearded countenance. "Actually making use of certain...equipment...doesn't appeal to me that much. Not since..." His voice trailed off into silence. Then he said, "It was the least I could do, you know. It's more an ego boost, for some men anyway."

Seeing the gleam in Crowley's eyes, she immediately understood. "Oh, I see." She'd had a few customers over the years who wanted magical enhancement spells. She complied, albeit not before questioning them about their own self-esteem. It never mattered, and they left $1000 poorer, but happy with the results. Of course the medical community's recent discoveries had taken some of that business away, but a few were too embarrassed to go to their doctors. She wondered why they were not too embarrassed to come to her. Still, money was money. As strong as she was, her powers did not enable her to live without standard appointments, such as her house, car and so on. It did enable her to forego working for someone else. She hadn't had to hold a job since her fast food stint during high school.

She **was** surprised that the body he appeared in wasn't truly his own. Marisa wasn't aware that demons didn't keep their own bodies from their mortal existence, if indeed, they'd ever been mortal. Their bodies were dead and buried, no doubt. It only served to make her more curious about his history. Who was this demon lord who held her soul in his thrall, and what were the disjointed images she had received earlier all about?

Finishing up his glass, Crowley sent the bottle back his quarters. "Before I leave, I want to give you fair warning about someone so devious, so spiteful, you'll want to avoid them at all costs. They'll be no friend to you because they hate me with a passion, even though I've pulled their sorry asses out of the proverbial fire on more than one occasion."

Marisa wondered what kind of monster Crowley could be referring to. "So...who is it?"

"It's not an "it", it's a "them". Winchester." Even saying the name made Crowley want to tear something apart, but since there was only Marisa, he stilled his anger.

"What's a Winchester?" She asked, curiosity piquing her interest.

"Winchesters. There are two of them, brothers actually. They're Hunters, damn their self-righteous souls."

"Hunters? I thought those were fictional characters in modern fairy tales. Do you mean to tell me they're real?" Marisa's mother, ever the story-teller, had read to her long ago from a very old book, about a group of people called Hunters who went after more than ordinary game. They were experts at tracking and killing creatures who roamed the Earth in the darkness. They were also known to have hunted demons, which could explain Crowley's obvious hatred for these Winchester brothers. But those were just stories. Surely they didn't exist.

"They're real, love, and they've been pimples on my ass for the last few years. I'd love to take care of them once and for all." Crowley mulled that over as a possble way to make use of Marisa's powers. And he knew that Dean Winchester always had an eye for a pretty woman. Not that Crowley cared she was pretty, beautiful in fact, but it would make trapping the elder brother that much easier. He took her chin in his hand roughly, and staring her in the eyes, gave her a warning. "Stay away from the Winchesters, ducky. That's an order. You'll want nothing to do with them." Then he vanished.

Marisa rubbed her chin. It had actually hurt when he grabbed her. Maybe she was wrong about being able to remain on equal footing with Crowley. He was King of Hell, and that gave him more authority than she could ever hope to possess. "No," she laughed to herself. "I'm strong enough. And he needs me." As she considered his words, her eyes narrowed. "Now why would you tell me about something you want me to have no interest in," she mused.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Crowley hadn't appeared to Marisa in weeks. Then weeks became months. She found herself missing his constant intrusions. But perhaps it was this way. Once the deal had been made, she would not see him until the day he came for her soul. She had hoped he would teach her things now, while she was alive and could make use of the new-found knowledge.

One summer day, Marisa was in her kitchen preparing a spinach salad, when she noticed the slightest scent of sulfur. _Crowley. _Turning around, she found herself looking at a male intruder. She raised her hands in an attempt to disperse him, when she saw the blade of the knife she was using to cut the vegetables bend, as if melting under extreme heat. She dropped the ruined knife just as the man rushed her, grabbing her by the neck.

"Witch," he spit out, his voice pure venom. "I'll absorb your energy, and leave your empty husk behind."

Marisa glared at the demon, but she was afraid. There had been no time to summon her inner power to dispel him. "Haven't you heard...the...news?" she gasped out.

"I heard of your presence, witch. And I'm so happy I found you first." Licking her neck, he whispered as he pulled her closer, "I can taste your power."

Marisa squirmed in disgust. All she wanted to do was get free, and show this creature what she could do. Chanting the words of a binding spell, she attempted to tie the demon down with invisible bonds. It was working, as she felt his arms loosen, but soon his laughter filled her ears as the creature managed to dispel her magic.

"Not bad, witch. But I'm afraid I'm stronger than that," the demon gloated.

"Nespare cante estoria alle satanis...," Marisa deperately continued with another chant. Staring her captor in the face, she locked eyes with him. Unblinking, she chanted on. "Parati enotes cashte elestos."

Suddenly, she found herself free, and it wasn't due to anything she had done. She saw Crowley standing in the now-empty space between her and the gross being that dared touch her.

"That was the worst mistake you could possibly have made," he said, his eyes narrowed as he stared down the demon.

"My Lord, I had no idea she was yours. She's just a witch, after all. I swear, I won't bother her again." The demon was slowly backing up, knowing that he would not be able to vanish, not with the King of Hell blocking any escape. Seeing anger in his master's eyes, he tried to plea for his life, but found himself mute.

Crowley raised his hand, snapped his fingers, and the demon began to burn. He smiled with nefarious satisfaction as he watched the demon who dared to befoul his latest acquisition scream in agony, and finally disappear in a puff of sulfuric smoke. Turning to Marisa, he saw her standing off to the side, her hands clenched tightly. When the demon had fully incinerated, he went over to her.

"What the hell was that?" she cried out at him. "I thought you would have notified all your little creatures about our bargain. Why was he attacking me?" She rubbed her neck gently.

Removing her hand, Crowley checked for damage. "You're fine. Truth is, I can't get the news out to everyone everywhere. But I'm here, aren't I? And demons being demons means having somewhat of a defiant nature. Until I get my hands on them, that is. They don't make the same mistake twice. You know, I could have my dog assigned to protect you until I root out anyone who would dare ignore my hands-off edict."

"Your...dog?"

"Yes, a hellhound. Massive enough to scare off anyone. Quite invisible, and quite invincible."

Marisa had read about hellhounds. "Uh, no thanks. I'll just create a warding spell of my own. It's cleaner."

"Suit yourself, love." Reaching out with one hand, Crowley gently touched Marisa's neck. The darkening finger-shaped bruises instantly disappeared.

Feeling goosebumps rise on her skin beneath his touch, Marisa backed away. "Thank you, Crowley. You took your time getting here, but I'm grateful," she whispered.

Taking Marisa's hand, Crowley stretched it open, and placed a red crystal in her palm.

Marisa took the shard-shaped stone between two fingers and lifted it to the light. As she peered inside, she could swear she saw a flickering light within the crystal, much like a tiny flame.

"Since I won't be available to you very often, I want you to keep this. Consider it insurance. If you need me, hold onto it and think my name."

"That's all?"

"Since cell phones don't reach my neck of the woods, and yes, I do have one, by the way, this will work just as well."

Marisa was about to tuck the crystal away in a jar on the counter, when Crowley snapped his fingers. The crystal was now attached to a chain of fine gold. He reached around from behind and waited for her to lift her hair out of the way. She felt his hot breath on the back of her neck as he fastened the chain. "Station to station, I suppose."

He smiled wryly. "I travel the world, love. Busy busy, you know. Lots of souls for the taking. When things go sour, more people start making bargains, using something they don't feel they need for something more substantial. If they only knew."

"Yes, I suppose." Clasping the crystal, she said, "Thank you for this anyway. And thank you for..."

"Just protecting my property. No need to gush, Ducky. Demons. They're so bloody greedy," Crowley mused aloud. Snapping his fingers with great show, he vanished.

Marisa loved how he could disappear in an instant. Maybe, someday, he would teach her how to do that. Sighing, she went to her workroom, and began putting together a warding spell.


	3. Chapter 3

**To Serve the King of Hell**

**I do not own the world of Supernatural or its inhabitants.**

**Chapter 3**

Marisa poured herself a glass of wine, and headed for her workroom. Once there, she found her scrying bowl and the specially made ink she had. She poured the ink into the bowl, and chanted over the mixture. The liquid began to swirl on its own, while Marisa looked into the blackness. "Now, Winchester brothers, where are you hiding?" Straightening up, Marisa thought for a moment as she took a sip of the wine. Perhaps this was exactly why Crowley had mentioned them in the first place. He couldn't find them, and assumed she might be more successful. There were many warding tools people could use against demons, as well as other beings, but as long as a witch wasn't in their agenda, they would have no protection against her. She might actually be able to locate their whereabouts.

Peering back into the bowl, pictures began to form. They were only fragments, and difficult to read. A dark car, two men, empty backwood roads. She watched as the men fought strange beings. Sometimes they defeated them. Sometimes they didn't. If these were truly members of the legendary hunters, Marisa felt an instant admiration for them.

It was when she saw another man, a man in a trenchcoat, that the ink swirled rapidly until the scene had vanished. "That never happened before," Marisa said aloud, blinking her eyes. Confused, she uttered a few words, but the ink no longer revealed anything to her.

In that moment, as if it were a warning similar to a trumpet call, Marisa felt a breeze at her back. Turning, she found herself facing the demon lord himself. "What took you so long?" she asked, her words trying to relay an apathy she didn't feel. There was no surprise in her voice because she had been expecting him to return. Despite what he had told her, Crowley never stayed away for long.

Giving her a wry smile, he said, "Not happy to me see me, love?" Walking around the workroom, he touched items on the desk, knowing it set off the witch's anger. He found he liked her slightly angry. It made her all the more attractive, not that he was concerned with that. Crowley found that he more than enjoyed sparring with her. "Well, darling, have you found them yet?"

"Found whom?" She leaned her body against the table, her scrying bowl at her back.

"The Winchesters! Who do you think I mean? I know you've been looking for them." The smile was still there, but it seemed slightly less sincere.

Marisa felt that her expectations were correct. He **wanted** her to find the hunters. "I don't know what you're talking about," she replied lightly.

Crowley broadened his smile briefly, before moving around her to the other side of the table. He picked up the ink-filled bowl, peering in, then frowned when he saw nothing but blackness. "Where are they?"

"Ok, I was looking for them, but I...I didn't find them," she said hesitantly, knowing it best to be truthful, but not too much. Afraid he might see that truth in her eyes, Marisa stared at the blood red tie he was wearing, again, the only color he was sporting with his black suit.

Crowley looked at the intricately carved bowl sitting in the palm of his hand. He looked up at Marisa, his eyes capturing hers, just as he let the bowl slip from his hand.

Marisa saw it fall in slow motion. "No no no!" she cried as she reached out for the treasure given to her by her mother. It was her mother who had taught her how to use it. And now it was just about to shatter.

The bowl did shatter, hitting the floor, spilling its contents as it broke into 5 large pieces.

Marisa looked up at Crowley, fury burning in her eyes. "Damn you!"

"Too late, love." He brushed his hands against each other as if to rid them of imaginary dust. "Now, where are they?"

Marisa gingerly stepped over puddles of ink, and bent down to pick up the pieces of the bowl. "How should I know? I never will, now that you've broken this." She spun on her heel and placed the pieces on her table, staring at them mournfully. She felt hot breath in her ear.

"Don't try to con a con man, sweetheart. I think you already know, and you just don't want to tell me," Crowley whispered as he stood next to her.

A shiver ran through her body as she steeled her resolve. She looked at the demon lord, and stared him down, her eyes saying maybe she knew, maybe she didn't. But he wasn't going to get the information from her, at least not easily.

"You'll tell me, sooner or later. Better sooner, don't you think?" He ran a finger along her cheek, tugging on a strand of hair.

Pulling away from him, she blinked tears from her eyes. Her mother had been stubborn, and so was she. She faced her "master" down as angrily as she could muster the emotion. "If I tell you, what are your plans for them? You said they were hunters, and I know you've been involved with them before now."

His eyebrows rose as he listened to her with amusement. 'Go on."

"Hunters are still human, and you aren't. You could have destroyed them many times, and didn't. Why?"

"Maybe I enjoy toying with them. Maybe I've taken a fancy to them. It's really none of your business! Now, I want you to tell me where they're staying. What rathole have they taken up residence in?"

Marisa decided to appear to be complacent to his demands. Then she would take the information she had, and warn the Winchesters of Crowley's intent. The chance to meet real hunters would be a plus, something Marisa had never imagined. She almost felt like a kid getting to meet the real Santa for the first time. "I saw a sign, just a sign. It said 'West Kernville'. I checked an atlas, and found there are 67 Kernvilles in the country. 14 of those are West Kernville. Have fun."

She turned her back on Crowley, and waited for the blow she thought would follow. There was no blow. In fact, he merely placed a hand on Marisa's bare upper arm. The warmth that flowed from that hand grew to feel like a hot iron pressed against her skin. He continued to caress her arm, as if oblivious of the effect he was having on her flesh. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I have an army of degerates ready to do my bidding. Well, almost. They can get carried away when it comes to the Winchesters. Can't always control the buggers. You'll just have to hope I find them first. And when I do, all you have to do is STAY AWAY FROM THEM!" Crowley emphasized the last four words more loudly than he had intended.

"Don't shout at me!" Marisa spat at him, stepping away from him. She turned to face him from across the room, determined not to show her him how her hands were trembling. _Show no fear,_ she thought. She clenched her fists, standing her ground.

Crowley hadn't meant to get so angry at his latest acquisition. After all, she had done precisely what he'd wanted her to do. In the back of his mind, words were telling him, warning him, actually, that any contact with the Winchesters was dangerous. She had found them, but he would take it from here. SHE was not to meet them, ever. He would just have to figure out a way to prevent her innate curiosity from attempting just that. The one thing that always reached his supplicants most easily was instilling into them the basest emotions.

Moving to within inches of the witch, he took her chin in his hand. Crowley lifted her head. He delighted in the fear he saw in those green eyes.

Finding it difficult to speak, she still managed to squeak out, "What are you going to do, kill me?"

Satisfied that she understood his message, he released her.

Rubbing her chin, Marisa glared at the demon lord. "You can't have me for another 15 years. And it's up to you to make sure I survive until that time has passed."

"Right you are, sweetheart, which is why I want you to stay away from the Winchesters. They have no love for witches, from past experience."

"But I'm a white witch...," Marisa started to explain. She was interrupted by Crowley.

"Who happens to be a member of my camp. Never forget that. They don't trust anyone easily. I should know." He braced his hands on her shoulders as he whispered into her ear. "Once they find out you're with me, you become a target." As he stepped back from her, he acted as if he were going to exit through the door of the room. "Oh, and I will make sure they find out." As he moved through the doorway, he vanished.

Marisa exhaled the breath she had been holding inside, attempting to release the pent-up anxiety she felt. She knew she would end up doing one of two things, exposing the hunters Dean and Sam to Crowley, or she might end up betraying the creature who held her soul in his hands. Neither prospect pleased her.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

At the same time, hundreds of miles away, Dean Winchester was busy packing the trunk of his Impala with the unused weapons he and his brother Sam had left from their recent job. They'd been successful in destroying a nest of vampires, and were eager to get back to the small house they now called home. Since Bobby had died, they had no place to rest and regroup, so Dean had taken a small portion of the legacy left by the older hunter who had been like a father for so many years, and rented a place.

"Sammy, you ready?"

The younger of the two men poked his head out of the doorway of their motel room, calling out to his brother. "Yeah, man, be right there."

Dean slammed the trunk shut. Just as he was about to move to the driver's side of the car, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Turning, he half expected someone to be behind him, but he saw nothing. For a moment, he felt as if he was being watched. It was pervasive to the point that he just wanted to get into the car and leave. The feeling finally abated until everything seemed normal again.

But Sam noticed the look on Dean's face and questioned him. "You ok, man?

"Yeah, I think so. Since getting back from purgatory, I don't know, Sammy, things are just feeling very Total Recall, you know? Sometimes, this doesn't even seem real anymore." While in purgatory, Dean's mind had been played by various creatures, so much so, that when he was able to escape, it took him awhile to re-acclimate. Even Castiel had been unable to help much. The angel had sympathized with Dean, having had his own bout of mental illness for a time.

With concern etched on his face, Sam clasped his brother's shoulder. "Do you want me to drive? I don't mind."

"Hey, no, it's ok. I can drive. Get in so we can go home." Shaking off the odd feeling, he got into the Impala, and exhaled with relief on hearing the rough-sounding engine turn over and catch. He waited for Sam to get in, and took from the motel parking, driving lot a little faster than he had intended.

**A/N: Finally got another chapter of something. Thank goodness for work computers and breaks. :-) I will get to my other stories as I can. **

**My good news is I am going to get the opportunity to meet Crowley himself, Mark Sheppard, at an upcoming Supernatural Convention. I get to spend an hour with him and Sebastian Roche. I tweeted that I had won the hour and was scared. Mark tweeted back I was not as scared as he was. :-D Love him love him!**


	4. Chapter 4

**To serve the King of hell**

**I do not own the world of Supernatural or its inhabitants.**

**Chapter 4**

Marisa was out in her backyard, tending to the garden of herbs she used in both her meals and her spells. It was relaxing for her, being out in the sun, concentrating on the work that was more a hobby. She enjoyed a cool breeze that was blowing against her sweat-dampened skin. Standing, she brushed her hair off her face with a forearm, and looked down at the small plot of land, taking satisfaction in it's perfection. The warding spell against bugs and other invaders definitely helped.

Looking down at her dirty hands, Marisa went over to the hose. Turning on the faucet, she let the cool water cleanse away the dirt that went all the way up to her elbows. Drying her arms and hands on a gardening apron she wore, she started up her stairs.

After taking one last look at her yard, she went inside, and opening the refrigerator door, pulled out a pitcher of tea she had made earlier. Marisa filled a glass, and drank deeply of the cool liquid. She set the glass down, and thought about the ingredients for some tinctures she needed to brew. She ticked them off in her mind. _Calamus root, silverweed, and Orris root. _Later, she'd harvest a few bunches of each, but for now, rest was what she wanted. Alas, that was not to be. Hearing the slightest of sounds behind her, she turned abruptly. "Crowley!"

"Hello, my dear," he said, his accented voice as thick and sweet as honey.

Marisa fell for none of his attempts at charm, although she had to admit, he could be charming. "You never seem to stay away for very long. What do you want now?" She had not forgiven him since his last visit, and had hoped it would be awhile before he bothered her again. Yet, here he was.

"I have something for you. An apology, if you will, for what happened during my last visit. Simply hoping to make amends."

There on the counter lay a box, exquisitely wrapped in blood red satin, and tied with a small satin bow. It seemed oddly feminine, considering the donor. "And what is that?" She peered up at Crowley, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"It's a gift," he replied. He turned away from her, and scanned her small, well-tended home. How would she feel once the 15 years had passed and it came time for her to leave it? When he turned back towards her, he was annoyed to see that she had not opened his present to her.

Marisa saw the look of annoyance on Crowley's face. "Why would **you** bring **me** a gift? After what you did..."

"Oh, bugger!" He picked up the box and removed the lid. Inside, was a scrying bowl, one prettier than the one he had destroyed. "Take it. To replace the one I broke."

Marisa took the bowl into her hand, thinking it was beautiful, but that wasn't the point. Her mother had given her the other one, while this one was a gift from the King of Hell. She laid it on the counter. "It's pretty, Crowley, but it's not the one my mother gave me. It doesn't have her spirit in it."

Holding his temper in check when he actually felt like yelling at the stubborn woman, Crowley merely pursed his lips. "Alright, I understand the sentiment, but this scrying bowl is special. First of all, it requires only water, and will show you anyone, anywhere...on the planet. The moon, too, if anyone were there." His attempt at humour flopped. This woman was as frustrating as he'd ever endured. Had she been an ordinary supplicant, and not a witch whose power he craved, he would have roasted her over a spit and fed her to his hellhounds.

Marisa's curiosity finally got the better of her. She picked up the bowl, and slowly examined it. _No need for her specially made ink_, she thought. _Just water_. Her mother's bowl was also known to be tempermental in that it sometimes wouldn't impart clear pictures, making her gift of sight useless.

Crowley smirked as he watched Marisa. It was working. She was his again. "Well, I have to go now. Enjoy the gift, love. Hope it serves you well."

When Marisa glanced up, Crowley was gone. "Ok, bowl, let's see just what you can do."

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Dean drove on silently for miles, while Sam sat alongside him, humming.

For some reason, it was bothering Dean. "Sam! Would you stop please."

Sam went quiet. "Yeah, sure, Dean. Sorry." He stared out the passenger window, wondering how his brother's experience had changed him. It had to have. Dean would seem fine much of the time, but then he would explode in a show of emotions so raw, Sam didn't know how to handle him. So he wouldn't even try. Hopefully, the ill effects of Dean's trip to Purgatory would eventually wear off.

Dean felt remorseful most as soon as his words had left his mouth. Why did he have to bark at Sam like that. He wasn't angry. It was more like the feeling of ants crawling on him. The smallest things set him off. He started to apologise to Sam, when he suddenly jerked the steering wheel hard to the right, and pulled over to the side of the road. He put the car in "park" and jumped out.

Sam got out as soon as he saw his brother do so. "Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

Dean started to walk up the road, but turned abruptly to come back. The hairs on the back of his head bristled. "Damn," he muttered to himself.

Sam caught up to Dean, and tried to settle him down. "Dean, what's going on?"

"I...I don't know, Sammy." He placed a hand on his kid brother's neck, squeezing. "I'll be ok." He stepped away, and began to walk along the side of the road. Then he'd turn and walk back the other way.

Miles away, Marisa leaned over her work table, as she watched the scene that was unfolding within the confines of her new scrying bowl. Crowley's gift was far superior to her mother's bowl. She watched the two hunters with interest, and contemplated on how to get them here.

Marisa stood upright. Why would she need hunters? Beside a slight interest in the nature of these men, there was absolutely no reason to summon them here. _Crowley_, she whispered. This was his doing, no doubt. She moved the bowl aside, determined not to view the scene further. She had to work for Crowley once she was his, in Hell. She would not help him now. Not if his goal was to capture and harm the two hunters.

Unbeknownst to Marisa, the mere act of using the scrying bowl could draw the subject to the source, if that is what the scryer consciously, or unconsciously, wanted. Crowley had neglected to tell her this tiny detail of one the bowl's abilities.

"Dean, what's the matter. Talk to me, man." Sam tried to calm his brother down, but couldn't keep up with the Dean's pacing.

The older Winchester brother wondered why he felt like he was being watched. Now he knew why caged animals paced. It was an involuntary need to flee. Dean stopped. "Sammy, get in the car." He opened his door, and hopped in.

Sam managed to get in just a moment before Dean started the car and drove off, the tires kicking up gravel behind them. He drove on for about 25 miles more, then took an on-ramp to the highway.

Sam saw a road sign, and realizing they were heading in the wrong direction, he said, "Dean, aren't we supposed to be going to Scranton? Didn't Bobby..."

Dean's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. "Sammy, be quiet, ok? We have to make a detour."

"Detour! Where?"

"I...I..." Truth be known, Dean had no idea.

**A/N: now that I have a laptop again, I can resume my writing. I am actually writing on all three stories simultaneously, so whichever one gets a semi-adequate chapter, gets it posted first. So be patient, folks, I am writing again, on all of them!**


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